


A Satisfying Agreement

by fools_seldom_write



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Coming Untouched, Drug Use, M/M, Murder, Smut, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 06:45:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16739050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fools_seldom_write/pseuds/fools_seldom_write
Summary: Mycroft finds out about some of his younger brother's deathly hobbies and decides he has to punish him.





	A Satisfying Agreement

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of a series I'll probably never continue.

The first time it happened, Sherlock was high, not just on drugs but also on one of the best murders he had committed thus far. As soon as Mycroft realized what was going on, he personally picked him up in a limousine with his most trusted driver, who received double his normal money that day and forgot everything he might or might not have seen.  
Even in his barely conscious state, Sherlock didn’t even try to deny it, he was smarter than that. And when Mycroft asked what the hell he was thinking, he didn’t apologize, he didn’t even try to justify or at least explain it, he just silently got on his knees to suck his brother’s dick. But he couldn’t even finish opening his pants with shaky fingers before Mycroft punched him in the face. Though he had never punched another person before (his weapons of choice were guns and swords), he occasionally did boxing to maintain his weight, and he knew it was successful when his otherwise pretty pain-resistant brother trembled and fell to the limousine floor. And he kept lying there until they arrived at Mycroft’s home and he threw him out onto the pavement, where he slowly got to his feet again.  
He still didn’t apologize. But he did obediently follow his older brother into the house, not even bothering to ask what would happen next. He knew that he had made Mycroft angry and that he would pay for it. His usual professionalism was just the calm before the storm, he had experienced it before, though never quite as bad.  
Mycroft damned that he never got around to building in the basement he had planned once; it could have been very useful today. So he lead Sherlock into the kitchen instead, the best place he could spontaneously think of to teach his younger brother a lesson, because the wooden table in the middle of the room was just on the same height as Sherlock’s waist. Though it was tempting, Mycroft decided he didn’t want to order him, it would be too easy in this drugged state, it wouldn’t leave a lasting impression. No, he needed to use force. That was also easy in this drugged state, but he never did it until today, so Sherlock would surely remember it afterwards.  
It needed only one hand to drag Sherlock across the room to the table and bend him over it, pressing his face hard against the smooth wooden surface. He gasped in surprise. With his free hand, Mycroft did what Sherlock hadn’t been able to do earlier, he opened his pants and pulled out his belt in one quick move. Sherlock, who had twisted his head as far back as he could without breaking his neck to get a look at his older brother, stared at him with wide eyes. His pupils were so big they almost hid the whole iris, and Mycroft couldn’t tell if it was because of the drugs, the adrenaline of the murder or arousal. With those options, he wasn’t too sure he wanted to know, either, with that last option available. But he did see fear in Sherlock’s face and that comforted him. It comforted him enough that he ripped down his brother’s pants and went on to deliver the first hit. Sherlock didn’t scream, but he did whimper, and that was enough for now. Mycroft still made sure his second hit was harder. While spanking him, he forced Sherlock to tell him everything.  
It all began when Sherlock was a young teen and Mycroft started doing work for the government, started staying away from home for longer periods of time, started calling more rarely. Without his brother, Sherlock wasn’t just lonely, he was also bored to death - quite literally, as it would turn out. And without Mycroft to discipline him and keep him on track, he started skipping school and getting into trouble with teachers and classmates alike. He grew cannabis on school grounds, sold it to other students in the bathroom between the lessons and bought harder drugs with the money he earned that way. When he was fourteen and coming down from his first heroin high, he found himself lying next to a dead body, splattered with the victim's blood, and from that day on, he was addicted to murder.  
It was slow getting this story out of Sherlock, but it was definitely worth it, because the little sobs and cries interrupting his speech were probably the most beautiful sounds Mycroft ever heard in his life. And the longer it lasted, the more difficult it got for Sherlock to suppress these sounds. Mycroft didn’t mind his arm getting tired, starting to hurt, going numb. All that mattered was his brother's ass getting redder and his cries louder.  
And Sherlock kept talking about other murders he committed later on, how he would get on edge if there was too much time between good cases, how he went out to stalk his victims, planning every last detail in the beginning but getting a bit more careless with every time he managed to get away with it. Some of the murders he pinned on other serial killers, some of them he made to look like accidents, some of the corpses were never found. When he finally finished the story with today’s murder, blood was running down his thighs in thick, red streams. Mycroft watched it slowly stain the kitchen floor, but then noticed something else on there: Sperm. Sherlock had come just from pain and the friction of his bare dick getting pushed against the table with every hit from the belt. He had to be either really desperate or really horny, and considering he already raped his murder victim earlier, the first option was rather unlikely.  
Mycroft had never given his brother’s sex drive much thought, he had never even seen any sign of it and therefor just assumed it was non-existant, but it was obvious he had been very wrong. Maybe he just didn’t want to see it all those years, because Sherlock was still his brother after all, but staring at the cum on his kitchen floor, he didn’t feel any of the expected disgust. He wasn’t even really mad he would have to clean it later. So, was Sherlock really that good at hiding it? He did manage to keep his murders a secret until today, despite Mycroft’s constant concern for him. He really needed to be more observant of his brother in the future, to make sure something like this would never happen again.  
But his job was done for now. Sherlock had felt his wrath and hopefully learned his lesson. Mycroft had to resist the urge to take care of him now, make sure he was okay after this. He knew that would destroy all the authority he worked so hard to establish these past minutes. He couldn’t risk a flaw in his dominance. Sherlock just loved to jump at weaknesses, as he demonstrated plenty of times before.  
“Never do that again.” Mycroft said instead, and he made sure to stress every single syllable, voice hard and unforgiving.  
Then he left. He figured Sherlock would leave as soon as he could walk again, he wouldn’t want to stay here and he knew where the door was. He would go home, and lie to John about where he had been during the night, and go back to his usual routine of boredom and case-solving, and maybe even remember his brother’s words.  
It was only after Mycroft left the room that he noticed his dick was rock-hard.


End file.
